


Tapeworm

by AvatarofJord



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Biology, Bad Quantum Science, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parasites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-26 13:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarofJord/pseuds/AvatarofJord
Summary: "There had been rumors on the Eclector, persistent to the point that if anyone had asked any of her crew they’d say it was common knowledge. The First Mate had some kind of parasite. But this, this is something different all together."This fic happened as a direct result of all the tumblr posts about Kraglin having a tapeworm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm supposed to be working on Spare Parts Vol 2, but this plot bunny wouldnt leave me alone until i fed it. and then it got big. I would love to credit whoever first introduced the idea of Kraglin with a tapeworm but i can't honestly remember where i saw it first. Also there won't be tapeworms, just other parasite nonsense.
> 
> Edit: Tapeworm headcanon is all Write_like_an_america's fault. I will give credit where credit is due ;)

It’s happening. Right here, right now and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Existentially he’s always known it was a possibility, one of them going out in a blaze of red leather clad glory. And if Kraglin is honest with himself he always knew Yondu would go first. He just figured when it happened he’d be readier for it. But he’s not. Not by a long shot. standing here safe inside the Quadrant watching his captain, best friend, Krutarkin love of his life, suffocate, Kraglin knows he’s about to do something reckless and stupid to save him. 

Other than Peter, most the rest of the Guardians are safe on board with him, Gamora still unconscious and the Rat trying to coax more power out the engines, just as desperate to pull the Quadrant around quick. Kraglin knows it won’t be fast enough; they have less than seconds. But he does have something that might work. He turns from the porthole and the two small figures silhouetted by Ego’s implosion. Drax is closest and he snaps to get his attention.

“Oi. Don’t let me hit my head.” He says with a nod and the brute gives him a confused look that morphs quickly into surprise. He can’t really imagine what he must look like, shedding the meat sack he’s been settled in for the last 30 years but the look on Drax’s face says it looks at the least unnerving if not a little frightening. His mass of entangled atoms, uncountable in number and so impossibly small he’s pretty sure he looks like mist, seep from the Xandarian nose and mouth he’s worn as his own skin. Time seems to slow to a crawl, always has compared to when he’s bound to a host, and before he knows it Kraglin’s maneuvered his amorphous blob of a body through the airtight seals of the ship and out into space. He can't tell if Drax catches his shell before it smashes its head.

He can feel the subtle trails of radiation that slip through space like rivers, different from the ones thrumming up from Ego’s corpse. He doesn’t have arms or legs or eyes or any of the nonsense most folk do, but he does have a form and he spreads himself flat and thin. Best for riding a wave and lucky for him there’s a trail straight through Yondu and Quill. The radiation tingles along his body as he floats towards his shipmates like a sea slug. 

There’s no sound in space, he can’t hear Peter screaming anymore now that he’s outside, but he can sense Yondu’s flagging life signs. The dissipating heat and slowing heartbeat. Frickin stupid, if he’d bothered to do a quick planetary scan he would have known that Ego was headed for an implosion not an explosion. And then maybe he wouldn’t have flown the ship so far out. A rookie mistake but he seems to be making a lot of those. He supposes it doesn’t matter anymore, only thing that does Is getting to Yondu.

The radiation slip stream delivers him onto Peter first and he flows over him like water toward the one who actually needs him. Part of being a good parasite or symbiote (or whatever) he figures is he can coax cells into regeneration or stasis, can wrap himself around his host at a molecular level and protect them. Yondu’s face is icy, and the places where Kraglin might usually slip inside a host are quickly becoming less of an option. He settles on the ears, not a favorite entry point, but close enough that he can reach the brain and settle himself alongside it, his own atoms taking up residence in his captain’s cells. Even after 30 years or so inside his last meat sack, merging with a new host is instinctual and soon he has complete control of the brain. He coaxes Yondu into an easy sleep using the rest of his skill to keep the brain as safe as possible. There’s a chance he’s too late, but Kraglin refuses to acknowledge it as he takes control of the other various biological systems. 

***

Yondu for his part knows he’s sleeping; Centaurians usually do. His eyes froze over quick, the last thing he remembers seeing being Quill’s distressed face. So, the skyline in front of him has to be a dream. He’s standing on a bridge in one of the commerce districts on Xandar, white metal and stone all around him, not someplace he tends to linger - too clean. Where usually there would be advertisements scrolling along on holoscreens, now they are suspiciously absent. There’s also a severe lack of people around him, some hazy figures in his peripherals, but no one solid. Well no one except his first mate who’s slinking around behind him like he thinks Yondu can’t feel his presence in his own dream. 

A hand on his shoulder proceeds a wispy drawled, “Cap’n.” 

“Bout time you said somethin’.” Yondu responds glancing at the shaky twig of a man standing behind him. Glassy blue eyes stare back, lip caught between silver snaggle teeth. His first mate retracts his hand and continues to stare silently, guiltily. “The hell is that look on your face, boy?”

“I-“

“Gotta say it ain’t quite the look I was hopin’ for, seeing as this is the last dream I’m likely to have.” Yondu grumps, face falling into a scowl when Kraglin won’t meet his eyes. He crosses his arms and glares. Normally this would be about the time his subconscious would take the hint and shift. Hopefully to something suitably dirty and taboo, because isn’t that the point of dreams? It doesn’t, and the hangdog look on Kraglin’s face doesn’t change, if possible he looks a little bit more dejected.

“It ain’t gonna be your last, Sir.”

“Issat so?” 

Kraglin sighs. “I got somethin’ I gotta tell ya.” 

“Well ya best spit it out then. We’re wastin time.”

“I been. Well.” Kraglin runs a hand along the back of his neck and leans on the railing so he doesn’t have to look Yondu in his face. “I been keepin’ a sorta secret.” 

That peaks Yondu’s interest, a change in the script that could potentially lead to some good nasty fun. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t love it when “The Real Kraglin” wanted to share some kind of fantasy. With the kinky, weird shit that man has asked to try in person Yondu hasn’t had cause to dream about it. Boy’s been pretty good at keeping him entertained.

“How long?”

“As long as we known eachother.”

“Look Krags it ain’t…”

“No, it kinda is a thing. An’ I just- when you wake up...” Kraglin shakes his head and it’s obvious nothing is coming out right. “I wanted to tell ya. But I didn’t know how, an’ it never really seemed all that important.” 

“Then it ain’t.” Yondu growls, impatient to get to the main event while his brain is still functioning well enough to keep dreaming. Honestly, the whole thing is starting to get depressing.

“I really hope you feel that way when ya wake up.” Kraglin replies and it’s sad, a little warble exhaled through a clenched jaw. It’s about all Yondu can take. If his subconscious won’t take the subtle hints and change about on its own, he supposes he’ll just have to do it the hard way. He has Kraglin in his arms in seconds, hard nips and bites that pass as some kinda kisses being traded eagerly, and if they taste a little bit like Xandarian tears well Yondu figures he can ignore it.

***  
There are four bodies in the Quadrants infirmary. Two laid out on cots and two standing and looking between them. Peter isn’t quite sure what to make of everything at the moment. Based on vital signs Kraglin should be up and about, but he hasn’t regained consciousness since “a blue snot cloud” poured out of his facial orifices. Yondu for his part is lucky to be alive.

“Maybe it’s his brain. Do we know what kind of native species Kraglin is?” Rocket supplies, running tiny paws through pulled and tufted fur. 

“He’s Xandarian. Indigenous Xandarian.” It’s an important distinction. “His brain shouldn’t leave his body.”

“Quill, I got nothin’. There’s a slew of space bugs out there and none of them look like...like…”

“What about Yondu? That thing crawled in his ear man!” Peter knows his voice is squeaking like a prepubescent teen, but he can’t help his alarm. There’s been too many revelations today between his father, _his dad_ and now this thing with Kraglin. 

“I know!” Rocket shouts back, the datapad in his hand being tossed across the room. Peter shakes his head and runs fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck. His eyes settle on Kraglin a moment before he takes a seat next to the unconscious body. He grabs the scruffy chin in one hand, turning his face left and right before letting go. 

“Quill, what are you doin?” Rocket asks, eyes squinting in confusion. They bug out when Peter suddenly slaps Kraglin straight across the face. “Woah man! Not cool!”

Peter doesn’t seem fazed when Kraglin fails to stir. His thumbs smooth over arched brows before peeling a closed eyelid open. 

“Hey, what color are Kraglin’s eyes?”

“How the hell should I know, you’re the one who grew up with him.”

“Yea and I am pretty sure they were blue.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“This fella’s eyes. They’re brown.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit its been awhile. so sorry but you ever fall off the fandom wagon for a second and have to wait to be reeled back in. yea. me. I swear this isn't dead and there will be more updates hopefully more regularily in the future. Thank you to all the wonderful people who left kudos and comments. they are my life blood!

There had been rumors on the Eclector, persistent to the point that if anyone had asked any of her crew they’d say it was common knowledge. The First Mate had a parasite. Skinny to the point of gangly and able to out eat anyone on the ship it was fairly obvious. Nothing to be ashamed of as most of the crew had some kind of tag along. Tapeworms, fleas, venereal diseases, old girlfriends. For his own part Peter can remember a heinous outbreak of flesh eating space louse when he was about fifteen, creepy little buggers had eaten a good fifteen of the crew before anyone had even noticed. But this, this is something different all together. 

***

Yondu regains consciousness 48 hours after they pull him out of space. 

The first thing he feels is cold, a kind of chill deep under his skin, resting along his bones. The next thing is the cottonmouth and an awareness of how hungry he is. He sits up and scans the infirmary, a small cramped space with two cots and several beeping machines, most of which seem to be reading his life signs. When the only one he sees is Kraglin, passed out on the next cot over, he figures he might as well get up. If he’s moved to see his first mate snoozing like a loyal dog next to him well, no one will know but him. He pulls the oxygen mask off his face and begins undoing the wires stuck all over him when he hears footsteps coming down the hall.

“You know, maybe-and just hear me out before you call me a moron- but just maaaybe you might wanna wait before pulling the things keeping you alive off.” Peter says, all snark, leaned in the doorway as Yondu gingerly hops down off the cot with a snort. Blue arms, dotted with frostbite and shakier than Yondu would like, reach underneath and sure enough his jacket and long coat are all folded neatly, boots sitting on top just waiting for him. So is the yaka arrow, fixed up with only the tiniest scar to show it had been broken at all. He whistles it into its holster with a little flourish before turning to face Peter.

“ ‘m fine Quill.” He says, shrugging into his jacket. It’s meant to be sort of placating, a prayer to every god imaginable to avoid any overly emotional displays brought on by his not-so-deathbed-confession. He’s sure it’s a lost cause. When Yondu decides he can stomach it, is ready to face the music as it were, he makes eye contact with the boy and all the color drains out of Peter’s face. 

“What. The fuck.” Peter says and in a moment he’s got Yondu’s face in his hand, thumbs and fingers digging none too gently into his eyelids. “Dude. What. The fuck?!”

“Git yer hands off my face! Now boy!” Yondu says, jerking his head away even as Peter holds fast, eyes locked on Yondu’s. It’s not exactly the reaction he’d been expecting. He swats at Peter several times to no avail before deciding an extra pair of hands wouldn’t be amiss. “Kraglin get this idjit offa me!” 

When Kraglin doesn’t stir Yondu glances back at his First Mate, and really looks at him. His head is tilted at an uncomfortable angle, not just sleeping but unconscious. His chest is rising but his breath is coming out in rattling wheezes, drool slipping down a stubbled chin. And one of the eyelids is peeled back, unable to close on its own, _brown_ iris rolled towards the top of his head. 

A new chill that has nothing to do with space exposure starts to trickle down from the top of Yondu’s head toward his feet.

“Yondu what the hell is going on?” 

“What happened to Kraglin?” 

“Pfft, like you don’t know.”

Yondu looks back at Peter, incredulous, because he doesn’t know. Doesn’t have a clue. “He looks dead, Quill.” 

Peter swallows, crossing his arms over his chest, one hand covering his mouth as he glances between Yondu and Kraglin. He tries not to keep staring at Yondu’s eyes, not because he’s worried it’ll upset the man, but because he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it together himself.

“So, you don’t know about the blue thing?” He asks.

“Blue thing? What blue thing?”

“Kraglin’s blue thing.”

“Quill, if you’re asking whether or not I know Kraglin has a _blue thing,_ I’m gonna ask you to take a look at what color I am. Of course, I know he likes-”

“Gross.” Peter says with a head shake and a grimace. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He has Yondu by the shoulders and marches him to stand in front of the mirror on the far wall. Yondu looks at himself, eyes settling on the new fin first. He hasn’t seen it on himself just yet and it’s hard not to smile at the thing, ‘til he realizes that the accompanying red, the red of his eyes, is absent. He blinks once, twice and stares at the blue irises looking back at him. 

“What the hell.” The chill is back and so are the shakes. There’s a buzzing in his ears that might be words but all he can hear is Quill’s panicked shouting.

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“What is going on here!” Now Yondu’s the one shouting, nose pressed against the glass, blue fingers pulling at his own eyelids, trying to spy where the red might have gone. Next to him Quill is beginning to pace, hands fidgeting. The buzzing is beginning to grow in volume.

“So, you don’t know about the blue thing. Great! Great! That’s just-”

“What blue thing?!”

“The blue thing that crawled out of Kraglin’s nose and into your ear!” Quill voice is shrill but it’s nothing compared to the bellow that blows Yondu's ear drum the next second.

_“CAP’N!"_ It’s so loud Yondu jerks his head to pull his ear away from whatever made the sound, only there’s nothing there. _“Sorry! Sorry, adapting can take a bit. Didn’t mean for that to be so loud.”_

“Do you hear that?” Yondu asks Peter who’s still pacing and when the boy turns back to him his face is painted with concern. Or paranoia. Probably paranoia. It’s Kraglin’s voice, Yondu’s sure, would know it anywhere, but when he turns around the body on the cot hasn’t moved.

“Hear what?”

_“He can’t hear me Cap’n. I’m sorta in your eardrum.”_

“In my…” It’s ludacris and Yondu’s vision tunnels, zeroing in on his first mate and hoping for any movement in the gangly figure he’s so familiar with. A rattling cough shakes loose from a stubble covered throat, prompting more drool to leak from the corner of the thin mouth. But nothing else. He thinks about the dream he’d been having before he woke up. Thinks about the apologetic face and near confession. Yondu blows out his own held breath, hard, turns back to the mirror, back to blue eyes and growls, “Get out.”

_“Cap’n. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Ya got some serious healin’ left to do. I can help with that.”_ The placating tone is familiar, so familiar Yondu can even see the held out hands and cowed expression in his mind's eye. It’s so fucking Kraglin it only serves to piss him off more.

“No. Get out. Get out you lyin’ sack of-” 

“Yondu who are you…” Quill interrupts him, places a hand on his shoulder and it’s too much. 

_“Cap’n.-”_

“Yondu-” 

There’s too much sound running around in his ears and outside them. Too many voices all at once.

“GET OUT OBFONTERI! NOW!” 

There’s blessed silence that follows his outburst; even the ship seems quiet. Yondu stares at the blue eyes in the mirror, the ones sat in his own face, both familiar and totally alien and wonder’s if Kraglin is looking out through them too. Seconds pass before the blue shivers at the edge of his iris, before there’s a pressure in his sinuses, his arms and his legs. The first tendrils of blue smoke leak from along the rim of his eyelids. The pressure is intense, but it isn’t pain as his eyes roll back into his skull. He feels it fill his throat and it steals his breath. He heaves and even though he can’t see it he can feel a mass leave his mouth. 

When the pressure finally eases back Yondu finds his legs to be weak and is more than a little grateful, if a bit perturbed, that Quill is close enough to catch ahold of him when they give out.

“Holy. Shit.” Peter whispers, eyes bugged out. The blue cloud, or maybe it’s more like a mist, which Yondu figures must be “the blue thing”, shivers as it glides along the legs of the cot and up Kraglin’s arms before slipping out of sight. It seems to slide inside the Xandarian nose first, and the ears, but it also seems to be being absorbed directly through the exposed skin. “Dude. what the-”

Kraglin’s whole body convulses, before Peter can finish his thought, and sucks a deep breath before sitting up. One hand reaches back to rub a close shaved scalp and sheepish blue eyes settle on Yondu.

“Guess the big guy didn’t catch me like I was hoping. Got a bit of a headache.” Kraglin says, dopey smile stuck in place, showing off silver capped teeth like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

There’s a million questions forming as Yondu stares at his First Mate while Quill helps his old man to his feet. So many thoughts overlapping like jump points, each one attached to the end of another, and too many all at once spiraling like fractals inside his skull. Some of them are innocent, some curious, but the nefarious possibilities jump to the forefront first

“How long- Where- When did you do this to him?” Yondu grunts, words like crushed gravel in his sore throat. 

“Him, Sir?” **It** asks, Kraglin’s voice and familiar expressions only adding fuel to a fire Yondu is sure is going to run out of him and consume the whole ship. It doesn’t matter that his body is weak, his will has always been greater than his physical limits. He trundled through exile and mutiny just fine, this most recent betrayal will be no different. It doesn’t hurt as much as having a tahlei sheared off.

“That body. My first mate’s body! How long’ve you been wearing Kraglin Obfonteri’s face?!” 

**It** has the nerve to look taken aback and presses a pale, long fingered hand to it’s chest. No, not **it’s** chest, Kraglin’s chest. “I-I’m Kraglin Obfonteri. This is my body, it’s been.-”

“No!” Yondu snarls, finger pointed in line with a beaky nose. He finds his strength in the face of the creature’s innocent facade. Because that’s what it is, a mask. This isn’t Kraglin. It’s some kind of creature wearing his face. And isn’t that the goddamn kicker, that this monster could slip into his First Mate’s place and Yondu didn’t even notice. Couldn’t have said when Kraglin’s eyes had turned colors because he doesn’t even remember them being any other color but blue. Just another in a list of sins Yondu’s been working on cataloging, another failure. “You’re a goddamn liar! When did you steal it? Ten years, five? How long have I been going to bed with you thinkin’ it was him?!”

“No! Boss, I’m me! I’ve- ever since we met, it’s been me! I’ve always been-”

Yondu has the creature by its borrowed throat, a sharp whistle bringing the arrow up to press his point, a tack tip against a contracted pupil that indents under the pressure. The pulse point is throbbing, hammering away in preparation of being snuffed out. Which might be a mercy for the poor Xandarian bastard this thing is wearing like a suit. A Kraglin suit. “I know you’re a damn liar. Kraglin woulda trusted me with this.”

An Adam’s Apple bobs against Yondu’s palm as the thing swallows but doesn’t move. The scared expression is gone, but Kraglin was always one to give death his best war face, never wanted to die looking like a wuss.

“Remember that time we got exiled? An’ Stakar gave me the option, of goin’ with him or goin’ with you?” **It** asks, voice even like it expects to be cut off by an arrow in the brain. “You wanna go earlier? How about that time we ripped off the First Empirical bank of Spartax. An’ they chased us through 29 jumps. Remember how the wind screen blew an’ we almost got sucked out?”

Of course, Yondu remembers, he can recall it all like it was yesterday. The Spartax job had been risky from the get go. A lucky shot had blown the wind screen. He remembers the quick loss of oxygen, and Kraglin’s arm the only thing holding him in the ship. How half the bridge crew hadn’t been so lucky. And then the exile. How Stakar had wanted the lives of his officers for their part in going along with Ego. How exile had been the only other option. He remembers the knife at Kraglin’s throat, and the way his First Mate had spit at Stakar’s feet as he followed Yondu back out to the stars. Exiles, rebels, castaways, the worst kind of reprobates. Together.

“Yondu, I think he’s telling the truth.” Quill’s voice cuts through his ruminations. He lets go of his skinny bastard of a First Mate the next second, and shakes his head. He hates to admit he agrees with Quill; the longer he stares at the man the more obvious it becomes, this is Kraglin, sure as shit. Which only brings up another of those nefarious questions.

“You coulda stopped the mutiny anytime. Coulda slipped right inside Taserface the way you’re sittin’ in that carcass now.” 

Kraglin squares his shoulders, but says nothing. As far as he’s concerned he’s already apologized for that whole mess. He won’t cower, it’s not what Ravagers do, and he won’t deny, because Yondu’s right, he could have stopped everything. If he feels more afraid and off balance than ever before, well he won’t let Yondu see it. He’s tougher than that.

Yondu scoffs at him before turning away, weary to his core now that his anger is burned down. The chill is back in his limbs but at least the ravenous hunger he’d felt earlier seems to have dissipated. His legs, however, ache from holding him up. “Get out of my sight. I can’t- I won’t believe this. I can’t even look at you.”

Kraglin puffs up, arms behind his back and chest out. This fight was always a coming for them, something that sat like a stone in his gut but he’s had time, years, to think about it. He’s ready, and even if he’s not, he can’t out run this anymore. “It don’t change anythin’ about me. I’m Kraglin Obfonteri, Xandarian-”

“You ain’t Xandarian.”

“I AM! This is my body! This is who I am!” Kraglin growls, teeth glinting like razors. “I’m exactly who you thought I was.”

“I _thought_ I told you to get out of my sight!”

“Cap’n.-”

“That’s an order!” It shuts Kraglin down the way it always does, something Yondu only does when the idiot won’t just shut up, and honestly he hasn’t needed to issue an order to Kraglin in years, but right now he needs space. He needs time to think. But more than anything he needs the moron to leave so he can lay down and rest. He’s not ready to let Kraglin fawn all over him like a newborn babe. Not after all this. And that’s exactly what will happen if Yondu lets his exhaustion creep up on him.

The silence stretches, and for a moment Yondu really is worried he’s going to collapse before Kraglin leaves but after a shuddery little breath from behind him he hears the man turn for the door. He doesn’t turn to watch him.

Before he’s out the door however, Kraglin turns back. “How about that trip to Centauri IV. You remember what you told me? You remember?” He doesn’t wait for a response, he knows Yondu remembers and if he can leave on the last word, well at least he has that. He knows Yondu will have to come find him, they’ll have to talk again, because Yondu always refuses to let anyone but himself have last say.

Peter’s eyes skip from the empty doorway to Yondu and back again. Watching it all unfold, he’s not sure what to think anymore, figures none of it is really his business and more than anything wishes he could just sink into the floor and avoid the whole messy mess. He’d figured something had happened to the rest of the Ravagers, but mutiny hadn’t really been on the top of his list. His whole life Yondu had seemed so damn untouchable, a fucking legend amongst their crew, loved and feared in equal measure. Looking at him now, he just seems old and tired.

“You wanna lay back down?”

Yondu’s eyes cut back up to him, red embers like they’re meant to be and the scowl deepens for a moment. It’s a comforting expression if Peter’s honest, one he’s very familiar with. And it does make his old man look less like an old man.

“Shut up, Quill.”


End file.
